Under the Wire
As usual, 15 minutes before the stroke of midnight…
Well the weather outside truly *is* frightful here. According to the intarweb we are currently at -24C. For those of you who only think in Imperial, that’s -11F. BELOW 0, even in fahrenheit! I didn’t know that was possible. I mean sure you hear about it – in places like Antarctica – but never in places where people actually live. Where there are cities and highways and people need to get around. But true to my optimist ways, I am making a point of learning things from this crazy coldness that makes me wonder what the heck I was thinking when I decided to move up to the frozen north. And now I bring you – lessons jhb has learned in the snow.
1. My head is shaped funny. This one was a toss up between “wear a hat” and “my head is shaped funny.” They go hand in hand and really I couldn’t decide which was more important. Apparently dad was right all those times he told me to keep my head warm. Of course I don’t know what kind of good the warm head does back in Hawai`i, where it doesn’t get all that cold, but I’m sure his intentions were good. Here where the permafrost is thick, a hat really does help.
The shape of my head, however, does not help. I have trouble getting the hats to stay on top of my ears. They (the hats, not the ears) seem to wriggle their way up above my ears. If you tell me to try a bigger hat I will shoot you. And your eye, kid. My head is not big! I never thought it was big. I mean, I’m not really a small girl, but surely my head is normal-sized. I could pull the hat down lower, but then it covers my eyes. Eyes are important, especially in the snow.
Which brings me to ski masks. Ski masks, they aren’t just for bankrobbers anymore. I’m starting to think they are the perfect device for the person with a funny-shaped head like mine. When walking in the city I now know enough to not freak out everytime I see a man with a skimas on. (Added Dec 11, 11:43PM – I have been informed by mnssrnh that there is a typo here. My response was that ’skimas’ is native for skimask. You knew that right?) Noses get cold. I get that now.
2. Jeans… I’ve learned that despite my previous misconception, jeans really are not all that warm. Sure they’re hot as all heck when you’re on the beach in Hawai`i. They are also pretty darn warm when you are delivering mail in Washington during your probation period, during which you are not given a uniform allowance.
But when it’s minus anything outside and you need to be out there for any length of time, they turn into frozen jeans. Cold. You really should be wearing more than one layer. That Rudy Huxtible, she knew how to dress for the winter.
3. And the last of my great lessons learned in the frozen freezing cold of Calgary is that there is a reason the dog pees on the deck, and that reason has nothing at all to do with the fact that she wants to piss you off. She knows damn well that it’s cold out there. She knows that I’m not stepping out there to accompany her to the authorized pee spot. She knows that even if she does pee on the deck, the chances that I will actually go find a jacket and walk out there to pick her up and plop her in the appropriate spot are slim to none. And she knows that the last thing she wants to do is be out there, squatting her furry butt down onto the snow. Thank God she hasn’t gotten the nerve to poop on the deck yet.
And did I say dog? You caught that, didn’t you. Technically she’s a foster dog, left here in October by my visiting mother in law. She lives like four hours from here, so we know she won’t come knocking on my door one day, saying “gimme back my dog” all people’s court-like.
The Cherry Blossoms
Seattle will always be special.
I came out here looking for something. I didn’t know what, but I knew that staying in Hawaii wasn’t getting me any closer to it. Have I ever explained why I left hawaii? It probably has less to do with its being Hawaii, but more to do with the complacency that comes when you don’t finish school and can’t seem to get it together to pursue the things you love. Or even to figure out what those things may be. So you go to work and you come home and you hope something fun and exciting will happen, only it never does because waiting for life to happen isn’t the way you’re supposed to live. Something had to change.
So I came to Seattle. Ish. Technically I’ve never /lived/ in Seattle, but it’s close enough that I can write this entry and pretend and you all will just nod in agreeance. Okay? Anyhow, Seattle. It’s beautiful and perfect, even with the rain, which really isn’t so bad at all. It does stop. That’s a secret you know. Seattle people have made up the rain rumor so the rest of you don’t head out to invade. But shhh. I didn’t tell you that.
Things went well out here. I found work within a week of arriving. I bought a car. I got a nice job with the postal service. I learned that I deserve more than what I had, and ended the 5 year relationship that had dwindled to non-conversations consisting of grunts and “where’s the remote?” I learned that the world doesn’t end when things change and they don’t appear to be going your way.
It was my first apartment alone. By myself. I had a decent job, paid my bills, and on occasion, cooked a hot meal. My place. Well, me and the cats. But they were my cats! All mine! I could walk around in my underwear whenever I wanted to, leave my dirty laundry on the bathroom floor, and even use the bathroom with the door open. And today I pack it all up. Your first apartment is always a Big Deal. I’m sad that my parents never got to see it.
A couple of weeks ago the cherry blossoms were in bloom. Bursting with fluff and color. Those trees are amazing, you know. The different shades of pink are striking against the blue sky. Sure we don’t get many blue skies around here, but while the trees were in bloom we seemed to have perfect skies. Perfect weather. That was Seattle kissing me goodbye.
Since last week the flowers have dropped. The sidewalks and streets are littered with the mush of decaying flower petals. It’s time for me to go.
Filed under world travels | Comments OffThe Dreaded Speech
Spent a week in hawaii last month and barely mentioned it here. When I got back, I was so sad to leave home, that I don’t think I wanted to write about it. But now that it’s been almost a month since the trip, I’m ready to discuss the maid of honor story.
Yes, people, I was the maid of honor at this soiree. Having never been a moh, as wedding forum people call them, I had no idea what I was in for. Of course, being that I live in a completely different state from the bride really let me off the hook on most of the work that the moh traditionally is responsible for. For instance, there was no shower or bachelorette party. I was a crappy moh, I know, but flying home for just a week, and not really knowing the rest of the wedding party, I was in no position to host any type of festivities.
If I was a good moh, I would have. Bah.
Months ahead of time, I did lots of research on what was expected of me. The showers/parties – I was supposed to organize these. According to the rules of etiquette, though, being that I’m an out-of-towner, I was off the hook on this one. So I let myself slide, hoping that the local bridal party would do some planning without me. The bride herself was so busy with wedding plans, a new job, and her baby’s 1st birthday party (which, oddly enough, was only a month before the wedding, and from what I hear, was a big deal,) that she wasn’t the best with communications. No biggie – that just meant that she wasn’t overly worried about getting us all envolved in the planning process. Better for me, in fact.
So I keep researching. One thing in particular I was worried about was the speech. Naturally, with that being the one thing I feared the most, I read about it first. And this is what I found: Traditionally, the speech is to be made by the Best Man. It’s a Best Man’s speech. In more contemporary weddings, Maids of Honor are asked to speak, but it is acceptable for her to politely decline if she isn’t comfortable with that. Everything I read on the topic suggested that it really isn’t required for the MOH to speak at the reception.
So I breathed a sigh of relief and went on with my life. And then the trip home arrives. Everything is a-ok. Having fun, spending time with the family. The second night that I’m home, bridegirl calls and asks me to go to dinner with her and groomboy. They are meeting some of his friends at someone’s house for a barbeque. By this time I’m already pretty sick, and would have much rather stayed home. But how often does my best friend get married? So of course I go with them. On the way there, bridegirl runs through the program for the reception. She’s still nailing down the details and is working on the schedule so that the start and ending times are in the correct places.
Somewhere between dinner and the slideshow, she mentions “maid of honor / best man speech.” My throat goes dry and I try not to let my eyes widen too much. She pauses in the middle of the schedule.
“You have something prepared to say, right?”
“Uh, no.”
“Okay, well you have seven minutes for your speech.”
“Uh, ok.”
At the end of the night, after a heated discussion of christianity and my stance on pre-marital sex with her soon-to-be husband who thinks I’m absolutely crazy for commiting my life to something that he doesn’t understand, they drop me off at home, where I promptly research the speech that I didn’t want to make.
Lots of people sell these speeches online.
But buying a speech seems so darn insincere. How can I possibly speak at an event about someone I really care about using someone else’s words. Someone who doesn’t even know me.
I keep reading. Eventually I read enough about the speech and how to politely tell the bride and groom that although I love the both of them, and wish them all of life’s happiness in their new union, I’m really not comfortable speaking in front of large groups of people. I go to bed, confident that I’ve made the right decision.
The wedding is on Saturday. Friday afternoon I arrive at the hotel with my overnight bag, ready to help with flower arranging and bridal pampering. We work hard, for several hours. At around 8pm, bridegirl asks me how my speech is coming along. I fess up with my prepared excuse and she doesn’t let me off. DAMMIT. She says that I have to say something, even if it’s something small.
So I spend the rest of flower-arranging time, trying to think up things to talk about. Trying to decide what the heck this speech with be centered around. Eventually the flowers are done and everyone relaxes. Bridegirl goes to bed and I need some quiet.
We stayed in a nice hotel. They gave the bride a free suite for two nights, and she picked up the adjoining room for the boys to stay in. The hotel was on the 30something floor, overlooking waikiki and magic island. I should have taken more photos, but I was so worried about this damn speech. I sat outside on the balcony. The other girls were having bonding time inside, but I couldn’t write *and* listen to everyone talk. So I had to go outside.
Later on in the night, I ran out of paper. The hotel only gave us small pads of paper. Luckily, one of the other girls in the bridal party had notebook paper. We went downstairs to get the paper out of her car when I spotted the perfect spot for writing. In the hallway on our floor was a small desk with a lamp. It was quiet and warm (the balcony had grown cold with a late night chill.) I resumed my writing here in the hallway.
At 3am I turned in for the night.
At 4am the phone rang. Wake up call. You see, it was a morning wedding. The ceremony started at 10:30, and we were set to arrive at the chapel by 8:30. The limo was leaving the hotel at 8am, and the make-up girls were arriving at 4:30. They had to do 4 bridesmaids and the bride, so they had to make sure there was sufficient time for all of us.
I said I turned in at 3. That doesn’t mean I finished the whole speech. I’ve said it many times before – I’m so very bad at finishing things. I had a nice start – good stories in the middle, and then at the end, I couldn’t figure out how to end the darn thing. I must have stared at that paper, not getting anywhere for at least an hour the previous night, and here I was, on the morning of the wedding, still not knowing how I would finish this speech.
I volunteered to go first for make-up so that I’d have lots of time to deal with the conclusion. And sometime between lipstick and putting on the dress, I finished the thing. You don’t know how good it felt to know that it was all there, down on paper. For me, that’s the hardest part. Of course, the delivery is pretty darn hard too, but knowing that I was prepared to deliver made it that much easier.
I folded my papers up into a neat square and tucked it into my clutch for the day, took some deep breaths and tried not to think about it. You see, this is where my neuroses begin. If I think about it, it becomes this scary scary thing, and I will imagine myself doing nothing but making a huge ass of myself. I’m the worst storyteller ever. Really. I can’t even tell jokes right. I have no sense of timing. If something funny happens, it will certainly be unfunny by the time I’m done with it. And if I let myself think about that sad sad fact, I will surely break down and lose my voice, or my ability to walk, or something catastrophic like that.
After the ceremony and a cruise through Ala Moana Beach Park, we head back to the hotel for the reception. All I can think about is this speech. Nevermind how beautiful everything is, or how great it is to see a bunch of our old friends who I haven’t seen in years . The speech is the only thing my panicked little brain can think about.
The food comes. It’s really pretty. You know how they arrange your food on the plate so it looks so perfect that you hardly want to eat it because it’s that pretty. Well, I didn’t touch it. The waiter was getting irritated with me, I think. I had a couple bites of the salad, because salad is good. But it was hard to swallow. My stomach was getting more and more upset by the minute. I’m so glad my mom opted not to go to the reception, because I would have been ten times more nervous if my family were there. So the waiter gives everyone their main dish plate, while my salad plate continues to sit in front of me. A few long minutes later, he notices that I’ve stopped picking at the salad and he asks if I’m done. Yes I’m done. No, there’s nothing wrong with it. He brings my main dish plate. I take ONE bite of fish. One. Then I have to use the bathroom. Yes, in the middle of the wedding reception, I have to take a crap. No more food for me. I go off the the restroom only to find that all I needed was some air. Deep breaths. I know the speech is coming up soon, and I cannot convince my body that the end of the world is not accompanying this speech. Just a few words. Seven minutes. How does one say say ‘just a few words’ and ’seven minutes’ together, referring to the same few words, while keeping a straight face. Seven minutes is a long time. Of course if you’re the president of the US, or Chief Moose, seven minutes isn’t a big deal. But when you’re me, seven minutes is HUGE.
When I get back to the table, the rest of the wedding party is chomping down on dessert. My full main course plate is still sitting in front of me. The waiter just doesn’t get it. I don’t want it. Poor guy thinks I got behind the eating schedule in my run to the restroom. No, no. Take this food away. Bring me some sweet goodness!
And he does. Two bites of cake. I really wanted that cake. It was really good cake. You guys remember King Missile’s ‘cheesecake truck’? They were very delicious cheesecakes. Take stuff from work.
Anyhow, soon enough it was speech time. The best man went first, which I believe is taboo in wedding planner circles. The woman *always* goes first. I suspect he was nervous like me. I cornered him after the ceremony and asked him about his speech. He said it was only a few minutes and wasn’t really a big deal, but that he was so not a speaker. I felt better. I’d hate to have a crappy speech and have the best man be charming and engaging like I’m not. But no, charming, yes, engaging, not so much. He’s a sweet guy, but he’s no MLK, jr.
I made my way up to the podium, adjusted the microphone (he’s at least six feet tall, I’m barely five feet,) and started my blabfest. It was good times. Smartly, I stayed away from humor, as it’s so not my strong suit. There were tears, there were some giggles, but most of all, there was love. That’s really all I wanted to get across. I have known bridegirl since we were in the fifth grade. We’ve seen each other through so much, and I’m so amazed at what she’s grown into. I wanted everyone in that room to know how great she is, how lucky I am to have her for a best friend, and how fortunate groomboy is to have her for a wife.
All that worrying – now I realize that not only was I worried about making an ass of myself in front of lots of strangers, but mostly I was worried that I would get it all wrong and leave people wondering why I was even a part of this wedding. Luckily, I got it before it was too late. Sure I only got an hour of sleep, and spent the entire reception ruminating over how I had the potential to ruin this entire wedding, but in a stroke of divine intervention, I held it together. It all turned out okay and now I’m wishing I had asked that waiter to doggie bag my food.
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